Rehearsal – Composer and String Quartet
I listen and hear sounds by someone else,
not mine. The double stops, harmonics,
soaring on a reckless ride,
are chased on pressured strings — not mine.
I sit and turn the pages. Quartet bows
release my work. The temperature runs high
and steams the lines, the chords &mdash not mine &mdash
then freezes them. Alone, I touch the ice
and shiver, feel naïve notes &mdash soft, then loud &mdash
lift rising lines to burn in brilliant fires.
Breathlessly the supple strings abduct
my notes. I’m naked as they play.